Guardian Angel
by Alipeeps
Summary: Episode tag to 2x10. Noma watches over an unconscious Michael. Whump fic/character study.


_A missing scene/whump expansion fic that also kinda turned into a Noma character study. Episode tag to 2x10._

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Noma frowned as Michael's attention suddenly shifted, his eyes losing focus, as though he were seeing not the richly appointed apartment Claire had assigned them, but something far, far away. His brow furrowed and he huffed out a breath, sounding surprised and pained. Before she could react, he swayed sideways, catching himself with one hand even as she reached out for him.

"Michael..."

He pushed himself back upright, swayed again and looked her in the eye as he gasped one word, "Mallory" and then just collapsed. She tried to catch him but he was dead weight, unconscious before he even hit the floor. All she managed to do was control his fall a little.

"Michael!"

He was out cold, his head lolling to one side, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Guards!"

She called instinctively for help but, to be honest, she had no idea what to do. What _was_ this? What could drop an _Archangel_ so suddenly and completely? She crouched over him, expecting that at any moment he would awake, weak and disoriented, as he had done outside Vega's walls. But he remained motionless, unaware.

"Michael?" She gave him a shake but there was no reaction.

She looked up as the doors burst open, the Archangel Corps guard detail entering with guns drawn, fanning out as they scanned the room for danger. One of them – Carlos, she remembered –asked "What happened?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, worrying making her impatient. "He just... collapsed..." She sat back on her heels, scrubbed a hand across her jaw.

The soldiers checked the room quickly and efficiently, but there was nothing to find. Carlos lowered his weapon, signalling the team to stand down. He was a good guy. She'd shared guard duty with him at House Reisen more than once. That all seemed a lifetime ago now, a different time; when she was, for all intents and purposes, just a soldier, one of many in the Archangel Corps, just doing her job... and trying to keep Alex safe.

But that was before Alex had revealed to the Council that she was a higher angel, before Michael had abandoned the city... and before she had lost her wings, making the ultimate sacrifice to save Alex.

And now here she was, back in Vega, not in the Archangel Corps barracks but in the kind of V6 quarters she had previously guarded, a stranger to the people she had worked with - _lived_ with - for years, no longer just another soldier, but not really an angel anymore either. Not without her wings.

"The Archangel, is he...?"

Carlos looked almost sick and Noma was reminded that to these people Michael was their saviour, their protector, the one thing standing between them and Gabriel. They'd believed themselves abandoned by him and had greeted his return with cheers and applause... and now, mere hours later, they were shocked to find the indestructible protector whose return they had so joyfully celebrated could be weak, vulnerable.

"No." She shook her head. "He's breathing. He's... he'll be fine."

She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.

A stab of pain flared across her shoulders and she flinched, rolling her shoulders to try to ease the pain, standing up as she did to try and disguise the movement. Dammit. She looked down at Michael, stretched out on the floor. Well, she couldn't just leave him there.

"Help me get him on the sofa," she decided.

Between them, she and Carlos managed to lift Michael's dead weight from the floor and carry him over to the sofa. The motion pulled at the stitched wounds across her back and she gritted her teeth against the pain. They laid him down on the sofa, his limbs loose and relaxed, one arm slipping to dangle down to the floor.

"Do you want me to call the medics?" Carlos still looked anxious, his gaze fixed on the unconscious archangel.

Noma forced a smile that she didn't feel. "No. He'll be fine," she insisted.

She'd never seen Michael like this and she doubted the human medics would have any more idea than she. Through all his years in Vega, Michael had kept himself remarkably private from the humans amongst whom he lived, sharing only what information he felt was necessary about angels and their abilities. The humans knew next to nothing of his physiology. That was why she'd slipped into the hospital and used a feather to heal him after his fight with Furiad; she'd known the human doctors would not be able to treat a wound made by Empyrean steel.

"It's been a hell of a journey getting back here," she explained, not untruthfully. "He just needs to rest."

Carlos nodded, still looking a little dubious, and signalled to the rest of the team.

"We'll be outside if you need us, ma'am."

Ma'am.

Carlos had been, if not a friend, then at least a colleague, a trusted compatriot. And now he called her ma'am, as though she were a stranger. She waited until the door closed before letting out a sigh. This was not at all how she'd envisioned returning to Vega. It seemed like everything she knew from her life here was slipping away from her... those who she'd once considered friends were as strangers to her, Alex was with Claire, and even her mentor, the archangel she'd loyally followed for centuries, had been suddenly taken from her.

The weight of everything that had happened over the past few days suddenly pressed down on her, and she found herself fighting back tears, sucking in a shaky breath. Even held prisoner in Gabriel's eyrie, before Alex came, she'd never felt this alone.

Wiping her eyes, she sat down wearily beside Michael, lifting his dangling arm and holding his hand in hers. It was warm, strong, a touch she'd known for centuries. But it was little comfort now, as Michael lay so still and silent. She'd _never_ known him be sick. He was an archangel, one of the most powerful creatures in the heavens. What could possibly affect him like this?

She leaned over him, still clutching his hand in hers, and pleaded, "Michael? Michael, please wake up!"

Nothing.

She shook him, called his name again, louder. "Michael!"

She reached over and prised open one eyelid, hoping for some kind of reaction.

Not even a flinch. His pupil didn't even react to the light. It was like his body was just... empty, his soul absent. She let his eye close and sat back with a sigh.

She sat like that for a long time, just holding his hand, watching his face for any sign of movement, of life. His features, often so stern, were relaxed in this semblance of sleep. It was unnerving to see him so still and silent. Even here on earth, where angels' forms were limited by their earthly bodies, his presence was so powerful, and she felt its absence almost like a physical pain.

"Michael," she murmured. "What's happening to you?"

After a while she grew restless, a growing anxiety tightening her chest, and she paced the room trying to decide what to do. Should she call Alex? But no, last she'd seen he was busy with Claire... and besides, what could he do to help that she could not? What could anyone do? In all her centuries of life, she'd never known anything like this. She'd seen Michael bloodied from battle, witnessed him endure hardship and deprivation, survive famine, war, wounds that would have been fatal for a higher angel. Through it all Michael endured, his strength and fortitude an inspiration, and a warning, to the lesser angels he commanded. Michael was ageless, immortal.

And yet here he lay.

For lack of anything better to do, she tried to make him more comfortable. He was still wearing his long coat and hood, the material rumpled and bunched up under him, and his swords, still sheathed at his waist, were tangled in the folds of his coat. Ignoring the flare of pain across her back, she pulled him to a sitting position – half hoping the movement might rouse him from his stupor – and let his weight lean forward against her as she slid the coat and hooded robe from his shoulders and struggled to free his arms from the sleeves. He was limp and pliant in her hands, no tension in his muscles as she carefully laid him back down, one hand supporting the weight of his head, and wriggled the clothing out from under his body. She laid the garments across the nearby coffee table and slid the dual swords free of their sheaths, laying them carefully atop Michael's coat.

She rearranged his loosely sprawled limbs, placing his hands neatly on his chest. His head lolled to one side and he was so still she couldn't even see his chest move, found herself holding her breath to listen if he was still breathing.

Time passed slowly, the night sky outside slowly brightening into a murky dawn, the minutes marked only by her occasional attempts to rouse Michael, her bouts of anxious pacing alternating with sitting at his side, holding his hands, hoping for something to change.

As the dawn brightened into daylight there was a knock at the door and she jumped to her feet, unable to hide her relief as the guards opened the door to admit Alex.

"Alex!" She couldn't keep the happiness from her voice. Even though there was nothing he could do to help, it was a relief to see him.

"Hey," he nodded shortly. "Where's Michael? I need to..."

His words faltered as he looked past her and caught sight of Michael laid out on the sofa.

"Michael!" He crossed the room in a few short strides, his frown deepening as he realised the archangel was out cold. He looked to Noma. "What happened?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Same as before. He just collapsed. No warning." She sighed. "Only this time, he hasn't woken up."

"Shit." Alex paced, rubbing a hand anxiously at the back of his neck. "I thought he was getting better?" He leaned on the back of the sofa, staring down at the unconscious archangel, his face pensive.

"He was," she said. "He was fine. We... we were talking and he suddenly swayed and muttered something – a name – and next thing I knew he was on the floor."

He looked up sharply. "A name?"

"Yeah, I think. It sounded like 'Mallory'. That make any sense to you?"

He shook his head, turning his attention back to Michael.

"How long has he been like this?"

"Two hours," she said. "I can't wake him."

Alex turned to her, his concern palpable. "I don't understand. What could do this to an archangel?"

She wished she had an answer for him. "I've never seen Michael sick before," she admitted.

He chewed his lip. "Do we call the medics?"

She gave him a look. "What for? In all the time I've known Michael I've never seen anything like this. What are they going to be able to do?"

She gestured at the archangel stretched out on the sofa. "Besides, I think he'd be more comfortable here than in the hospital." She couldn't imagine Michael being pleased to wake up – he _will_ wake up, she told herself – and find himself in a hospital bed.

"Okay, okay..." Alex frowned, his hands on his hips, and Noma could read the worry on his face. This was about more than Michael, she realised.

He looked up. "I need you to stay with him," he asked urgently. She nodded.

"I gotta let Claire know. The rebels broke through the line when Claire pulled troops to come get us..." He glanced down at Michael and Noma understood his worry and why he'd come looking for Michael. They'd arrived back in Vega to find the city embroiled in a civil war. Michael's return must have seemed like divine providence; the archangel could probably end the rebellion single-handedly. But without him, the task fell to Claire Riesen's soldiers... and that included Alex.

"Be careful," she said.

He nodded. "Take care of him. I'll be back when I can."

The door closed behind him and the room settled into silence once more.

Noma leaned on the back of the sofa, vaguely aware that she was mirroring Alex's pose, and watched Michael for a long moment, her thoughts churning. If something happened to Michael, if he didn't awake from this... She pushed the thought away. He had to be okay. Alex needed him. The city needed him. _She_ needed him. She'd sacrificed so much for Alex, on Michael's orders. She'd gone against the rest of her brethren, lived with the humans, as one of them, hiding her true self from everyone. Her only contact to her former life was Michael; he and Alex were all she had left. And now Alex seemed to be slipping away from her. She'd lost her wings, was losing Alex, to lose Michael too...

Even as she thought again of her loss, the pain flared sharply across her back, making her gasp. She straightened, her hand reaching instinctively for the source of her pain. But no touch or medicine could ease the agony, heal what she had lost. Not even a feather – not that she had any more feathers to give, nor could she ask one of Michael – could undo the damage she had willingly done. A feather could heal her wounds but it could not regrow her wings.

With a grimace she wrapped her arms around herself, huddling against a cold that was not external but which stemmed from a hollow, aching hole in her core, in her self. With a sigh she crossed to the large windows that looked out over the city. In the daylight, she could see more clearly the damage done to Vega; a gaping chasm split the city in two. Buildings near the rift had partially collapsed and flames still flickered here and there, casting a pall of smoke across the desert sky. So much had changed since she had left Vega and it seemed like nothing could heal the damage that had been wrought.

She was still gazing sadly over the smoking city when the door opened, startling her, and Alex entered hurriedly, not bothering to knock. She could see from the tension in his face that things had changed, and not for the better. "What is it?" she asked.

He crossed the room to join her at the window, casting a glance at Michael as he passed. "Any change?"

She shook her head impatiently. "Alex?" she pressed.

"Not good news," he admitted. "The rebels have taken the reactor and the core is damaged. It's leaking."

She grimaced. Just when it seemed things couldn't get any worse.

"We've gotta get in there and fix it or Vega's done for."

"We?" she queried.

He avoided her eyes. "I've got a team assembled. Once we clear out the rebels, the engineer, Gates, can fix the reactor."

Noma pressed her lips together. Alex's meaning was clear; he had a team assembled - and it didn't include her. If she'd had her wings, she knew, he would have taken her with him in a heartbeat. But what good was she to him like this? Without her wings she was... less than she should be. She was just another soldier, stronger than a human, yes, but still not... not an angel, not the warrior she was and should be.

She looked over at Michael. She couldn't help feeling like, since New Delphi, everything was falling apart. They'd come back to Vega intending to save the city from Julian's army, only to find it self-destructing from within. And some saviours they were; a wingless higher angel, an unconscious archangel, Julian's army awoken by their arrival and the reactor under threat because Claire had had to pull troops out to rescue them.

Alex was also contemplating the unconscious archangel, his arms folded, his face betraying his concern, both for Michael and for Vega. If Michael had been himself, he'd have been able to retake the reactor single-handedly. Instead, he was one more thing for Alex to worry about.

"I'll take care of the reactor," Alex said. "You stay here. Michael needs you more than me, right now." He turned to leave.

Noma wanted nothing more than to go with him, to do something tangible to help. But what Alex wanted and needed right now was her support, and to know that someone was looking after Michael. And what else could she offer him, really? She followed in his wake.

"Michael will figure something out," she reassured him, refusing to believe otherwise, "and so will you."

And then another stab of pain, sharp and angry, pulled her up short, making her cry out and press a hand to her back.

Alex was at her side as she leaned gingerly against the sofa, his concern for her almost more than she could bear.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

She tried to be strong, brushing him hand from her shoulder. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

He straightened but Alex was nothing if not stubborn.

"Nomes..." he chided, cupping her face gently.

She shook her head, her voice coming out raw and shaky as she admitted, "Sometimes it feels like they're being torn off again."

"Phantom pains." He nodded his understanding.

"Worse," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Crazy how a part of you can hurt so much even after it's gone."

He was silent, his hand softly stroking her shoulder, and his sympathy was like salt in the wound. She didn't want to be like this, damaged and broken, and she didn't want him to feel guilty. She'd made her choice and, if she had to do it over again, she couldn't say she'd have done any differently. What choice had there been? She'd done what she'd had to to save Alex. Yet even now there was a distance between them. Even yesterday he'd have held her close to comfort her, but now...

She swallowed and pointedly changed the subject. "How's Claire?"

She eyed him challengingly. To her surprise his brow furrowed and his eyes were filled with sorrow.

"We lost the baby," he said.

"I'm so sorry, Alex!" She reached out for him instinctively, knowing what it had meant to him. "I'm so sorry."

He leaned into her hug, his chin on her shoulder, and she felt selfish for having been so focused on her loss while he had been suffering too. It seemed lately that suffering was all this world had left for them.

"Thanks Nomes." He straightened and she let her arms drop. "I gotta go."

She watched him leave, a sigh on her lips as the door closed behind him. On the sofa beside her, Michael remained eerily still and silent. She gazed down at him for a long moment. She felt lost here, adrift without an anchor, without Alex, without Michael. She walked around the sofa and sat carefully beside him. She laid a hand on his chest, feeling the shallow motion of his breathing, wishing there was something she could do to wake him. His hands lay where she'd placed them, across his chest, and in her desperation she leaned over him, placing her hands over his, his skin cool to the touch, and squeezing them, willing him to wake.

The sensation of wetness was unexpected and she leaned in closer as she lifted his index finger, surprised to find blood welling from a small wound. She frowned, peering into Michael's face. He showed no reaction, no awareness, his features relaxed in apparent sleep. This made no sense. The blood on his finger had not been there before, she was sure of it. And archangels don't bleed easily. A wound that small would have healed before it could even bleed... unless it were made by Empyrean steel. She looked across at Michael's swords where they lay atop his coat... she couldn't have nicked him as she removed them? But no, she knew she hadn't, and the blades were clean.

She shivered. Whatever was happening to Michael, it seemed it was even worse then she'd thought. Whatever held him in this unnatural sleep could also harm him physically. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. His skin was cool and dry, perhaps even a little cold. His temperature was dropping. She found herself wondering bleakly how long he could last like this - if he didn't awake, how long could the body function like this, an empty shell? How long before the autonomous functions – heartbeat, circulation, breathing - began to slow and finally stop?

She stood up abruptly. No. He was an archangel, he was strong. He had endured for millennia and he would endure this. She paced the room, frustration making her restless. There was nothing she could do here to help Michael and she found herself wondering how Alex was faring, hating that there was nothing she could do to help him either. She scrubbed her hands over her face; she was no use to anyone like this.

Needing something – anything - to do, she found a cloth and a large bowl, filling it with warm water and placing it on the table beside the sofa. She sat at Michael's side and, wringing out the cloth, pressed it gently to his forehead and cheek, willing some warmth back into his cooling skin. He didn't react to her presence, to her touch.

She sat beside him for a long time, just watching him, searching his face for any sign of awareness. Occasionally she would check his temperature, press the damp, warmed cloth again to his face and neck. Sometimes she held his hand, his fingers limp and unresisting as she wrapped her own around them.

Time seemed to crawl. It was tortuous, to sit here helpless, unable to do anything but wait... and hope. Sometimes the frustration would get the better of her and she'd squeeze his hands tight, shake him almost roughly, bed and plead with him to wake up, whispering his name with an urgency that scared her - "Michael. Michael!"

And still the pain would flare randomly and without warning across her back and shoulders, making her gasp and straighten, sometimes reaching for where her wings should be, as though anything she could do would ease the pain, both physical and emotional, of her loss. After a particularly vicious bout of pain, where she could have sworn she could again feel bone ripping through flesh, she turned away from Michael, wrapping her arms around her midriff as she perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to hold herself together, hold in the tears that threatened at the back of her throat.

She had never before felt this lost, this alone, this _tired_. In her sacrifice, she had lost more than just her wings, she knew. She felt... different... weaker, both physically and mentally. Even though her wounds were healing, her body had not recovered its former strength. Without her wings she was not fully an angel anymore... perhaps not immortal anymore. As they'd fled New Delphi she'd told Alex that she could feel herself dying and she'd meant it.

As she sat beside Michael, acutely aware of the weakness of her now mortal body, she felt almost physically weighed down by fatigue. The escape from New Delphi, the journey to Vega, the fight to reach the safety of the city... it seemed she'd been running and fighting for days without end. And even reaching Vega had proven to offer no respite. The city was in turmoil and they'd been here but a matter of hours before Michael's collapse and Alex's assault on the captured reactor. She'd heard nothing further since he'd left her with Michael. She could only hope that no news was good news.

But that was not the case with Michael. He'd been unconscious for hours now, lying so still and silent at her side. The longer this went on, the more she feared that he might never wake. She took his hands in hers again, desperate for his touch, his reassurance. The thought of never feeling his presence again was unbearable and, as tears pricked at her eyes, she bowed her head, curling her body over his and resting her forehead on her hands.

She had no idea how long she sat like that, clinging to his presence, her thoughts black with despair, when he suddenly jerked under her touch, gasping in a ragged breath. She lifted her head to find his eyes open, blinking dazedly. Before she could express her relief, before she could even straighten up, he was struggling up from the sofa, pulling his hands out from her grasp.

"The stars..." he gasped. "The constellation!" He was looking around him wildly, seeming to barely even see her or his surroundings.

"Michael, you're okay!" Her hands were on his chest, trying to ground him, get him to focus on her. "What stars?"

Her relief at his return was shortlived as he ignored her question.

"Where's Alex? I need to see him!" He broke free of her touch, scrambling from the sofa and lurching to his feet.

"Oh no... Mich-" she broke off her bewildered entreaty as he headed for the door, only to jump up as he abruptly staggered and listed to one side. She was at his side in an instant, tucking herself under his arm and steadying him as he leaned heavily on her. For a moment she feared he had awoken only to lapse back into unconsciousness but she quickly realised this was different from before; his body was weak and shaken but his mind, his presence, was here with her, nothing like the distant, disoriented gaze he'd had before his collapse. She could feel his body trembling against hers, his legs struggling to bear his weight - exactly as he'd been outside the city walls when he'd awoken from his brief collapse and she and Alex had had to half carry him between them as they ran from Julian's army.

"Come on," she turned him around carefully and led him back to the sofa. "Sit down for a minute."

He shook his head even as she lowered him to sit on the sofa. He was breathing heavily. "I need to see Alex," he insisted stubbornly.

She kept a hand on his shoulder. "Just take a minute, okay? Just breathe." Reluctantly, his body tense with impatience, he did as she asked, his head bowed as he tried to regulate his breathing.

She crouched down before him, trying to meet his eyes. "Michael, what happened to you?" she asked gently. "You've been unconscious for hours!"

"Hours?" He lifted his head at that, seeming surprised, even worried. He looked away, frowning, but didn't answer her question.

"Michael?" she prompted.

He appeared lost in thought, his gaze distant as he contemplated her information, but when he straightened his answer was the same.

"I need to speak to Alex," he insisted and she stood up with a sigh. Centuries of experience had taught her that Michael wasn't going to tell her a damn thing until he was good and ready.

"I'm not sure that's going to be possible right now," she warned.

He looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

She grimaced. "A lot's happened while you've been out. Rebels took the reactor and it was damaged - leaking. Alex... Alex took a team in to retake the facility, get an engineer in to fix the reactor." She looked at her watch. "That was... a while ago. I've not heard from him since."

Michael stiffened, his face paling. He pushed to his feet again but she could see that he was still weak, unsteady.

"Hey, hey!" She put her hands to his chest, as much to steady him as to stop him.

"I need to go to him..."

"Michael, you're in no condition to walk into a firefight!" Noma insisted. "Just..." she tried to placate the determined archangel, "just sit for a minute, let me find out what's happening, where Alex is."

She waited for a long minute, her hands still braced against his chest, but finally he nodded his acquiescence and she stepped carefully back. He swayed a little bit didn't sit, remaining where he was as she backed up and turned towards the door.

Carlos was still on duty outside and at her request he quickly radioed in for an update on Alex.

Nome closed the door to find Michael still on his feet, carefully slotting his swords back into his belt. He looked up as she approached.

"He's okay," she said quickly, seeing in his eyes a relief that matched her own.

"He's with Claire." She pressed her lips together. "The reactor's secured and stabilised but the engineer, Gates..." she shook her head, "he didn't make it."

Michael stilled for a moment at that, his expression unreadable, and she wondered if he'd known Gates well. Michael had guided General Reisen in the founding of the city, advising him on the securing and fortification of what was left of Las Vegas – had the city's engineer been a part of that process? She'd already begun living as a human at that time, just another refugee fleeing to the nascent city, building her cover as Noma Walker... and watching over Alex, as Michael had ordered.

"I need to see him. Now." Michael was implacable. He leaned down to grab his coat and she saw his grimace as he swayed imperceptibly, reaching out to steady himself.

"Let me." She scooped up the coat and the loose-knit, cowled, tunic and moved behind him, slipping them over his arms and up onto his shoulders.

He nodded his thanks, shrugging them into comfortable place. He was still weak but getting stronger by the minute. And clearly nothing was going to convince him to rest until he'd spoken to Alex.

"Let's go."

He preceded her out the door, the Archangel Corps detail outside standing to attention at his presence, Carlos giving her a nod of acknowledgement as she followed in the archangel's wake.

They took their time, Michael's stride slower than usual, and by the time they reached Claire's apartments they found she and Alex had left for the command bunker. Brooking no hesitation, Michael led the way, his pace strengthening with every step. By the time they entered the bunker, Michael seemed none the worse for wear, brushing aside Alex's concern, caring only about the new tattoos on hiss arm, and suddenly his dazed rambling about stars and constellations made sense, as did the question of what could possibly have so affected an archangel. The Son of the Morning.

Lucifer.

* * *

 _Fin._


End file.
